


No Matter the Hardship

by amyfortuna



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Difficult Decisions, M/M, Marriage, Nargothrond, Silmarils, War of Wrath, marriage problems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-11 14:40:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5630107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/pseuds/amyfortuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of the troubled marriage of Maglor and Gildor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Matter the Hardship

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lunarium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunarium/gifts).



Orodreth's voice was full of sorrow as he gestured to the twenty-five or so people he had called to a meeting. Looking around, Gildor noticed that they were all the relatives of those who had gone with Finrod, a few months earlier, and his heart clenched in fear. 

His mother was standing just behind him; he turned and put an arm around her slender shoulders. She was looking up at him and they both knew, then and there, what Orodreth would be saying. 

"I have had word of the company that went forth with my lord Finrod," Orodreth said, a calmness of utter despair and resignation in his voice. "Alas, for they have been slain, one and all. For Luthien was imprisoned in our halls by the Sons of Feanor who we allowed to live here as our kith and kin, unknown to us, and although she was able to escape them and go to Tol Sirion to attempt a rescue, she came too late to save our lord and his company." 

The soft sounds of weeping arose around Gildor. His mother put a hand to her face, tears already flowing, but he was frozen, silent. "Father," he whispered softly. 

Orodreth was pale and visibly shaking but spoke calmly. "I have thought much on how best to honour the memory of the Faithful who accompanied my uncle, your fathers, brothers, and sons. You all know that Finrod left no wife or child and has no House of his own. I therefore decree, as his heir and as the Ruler of Nargothrond, that all the immediate family and the descendants of those in right line, no matter how far descended, to the ten who accompanied our King, shall have the right to name themselves to the House of Finrod, in his memory and their honour." He took a deep breath, and continued to speak, but Gildor heard little of it. His thoughts were flying across the miles to Tol Sirion, where his father Inglor had been devoured by Sauron's wolves, and then again far away to wherever it was his husband dwelt. 

His mother turned to him, tears running down her face, as Orodreth stopped talking, and he gently led her from the room, back to their quarters. 

\----

Maglor's Gap, in the days of the long Siege of Angband, had been a beautiful place, full of small villages, carved statues and fountains, and fine traditions of all the things both Gildor and Maglor liked best - good food and drink, fine art, and excellent music. Gildor himself, fresh from tutelage under Maglor's mother Nerdanel, had carved much of the statuary in the small towns, and nearly all of what was in Maglor's own fort. 

They had been wed in Valinor, in the last days of its bliss. Maglor, the elder of the two, had first caught sight of him as a boy in his mother's workshop, tall and strong even then. A friendship had begun, founded on their common interests in music - for although Gildor's particular talent was for sculpture, he loved all the arts - and they could be seen nearly always in each other's company as the years went by. 

A betrothal surprised precisely no one save Maglor, when Gildor asked him at last. Their wedding, at Maglor's insistence, and in spite of Feanor's desires to make it a grand affair, had been a simple one - a feast for both families and their friends, their vows made in song to each other, and the exchange of rings they had crafted themselves. 

The years that followed their wedding proved difficult, for when Feanor was exiled to Formenos, Maglor went with him, against Gildor's request. Sometimes Maglor could turn so cold and harsh, even in those days, that Gildor, despite his great love for him, could not bear to be near him. Their visits during the Formenos years were relatively few for such newlyweds. 

As strange as it was, the Darkening brought them back together. Maglor, overwhelmed in grief, had come to find Gildor as soon as possible and there in the darkness they had made new vows that spoke of patience and forgiveness, no matter what the hardship or how long the separation. Gildor thought that though the world was dark, there was comfort and light in Maglor's embrace, sweetness even in the shadows. 

And so he followed Maglor, leaving his parents behind to follow in Finrod's train, for Inglor his father was Finrod's friend. In Alqualonde Gildor was ordered to keep out of the way, as he had no sword training, and could only watch from a distance as the unthinkable happened and his husband became a murderer, a Kinslayer. 

When they came at last to Beleriand and following Feanor's death, Gildor saw it as a fresh start, a chance to begin again, and he accompanied Maglor to the Gap, once again taking leave of his parents, though in happier days they visited often. Indeed, they had been visiting him, and together they were travelling through the southern part of the Gap, when the Battle of Sudden Flame began, and the dragon struck. 

It was their location which saved them, nothing else, and they fled into Himlad, and when Himlad burned they fled for Nargothrond. Celegorm and Curufin went with them rather than heading for Himring, as Himring was cut off from the south, Maedhros surrounded by a sea of foes, and the Gap was lost. 

So Gildor had dwelt in Nargothrond for the last ten years, believing that Maglor yet lived, but unsure where he was or how to find him. He could not ride out alone, as he had all too little training in weapons and war, and as dangerous as the lands were, felt it wrong to ask for anyone to accompany him on such an errand. If Maglor lived, they would find each other again one day. 

\-----

Nargothrond was burning. There were tunnels deep underground, and Gildor had played his part to gather as many as he could together, shepherding them toward the safest tunnel he knew. They would come up from the earth far to the south, out of range of the dragon, and hopefully out of sight of any Orcs who accompanied it. But it was hot in the caves, stifling, and there was always the risk of the tunnel being destroyed around them or flooded out along its route somewhere.

When they emerged into the cool night air at last, Gildor did not know where they were or where to go. At last they found a stream, and followed it westward over the hills, and from there to the Sea. 

Gildor and his mother, who had taken the name Faervel, dwelt for a time in the Falas, pledging their service to its lord, Cirdan, and to the young prince Gil-galad. But all too soon the Falas was overrun and they made for the isle of Balar. At a later point, when the Havens of Sirion was established, shortly before the attack on Doriath, Gildor joined the craftsmen and women to help build the town. He designed buildings instead of statuary now, and worked hard to plan the small village in a way that would be most useful for the people, many of whom came to stay only for a while, then left again, heading east over the Blue Mountains. 

He had begun to think of the Havens as home, in a way that Balar, the Falas, even Nargothrond, never had the chance to become, had honed his skills with a sword, had obtained armour and taken watch in due course upon the city walls. When the trumpets sounded one dark winter's evening, alarming the town to an attack, he rallied with the rest, and was shocked to see Feanorian stars on the armour of their attackers. Soldiers bearing that emblem ran here and there through the streets, proclaiming to all to keep inside or be cut down where they stood. In horror, Gildor refused to go back inside, along with many others, and faced their foes head-on. 

Though he had seen Maglor fight many times before, he had never seen him like this, face transformed by grief and guilt until he hardly looked like the person Gildor married that day long ago. Helpless to stop himself, he ran out into the street and put himself between Maglor and the soldier who was fighting him. Both their blows glanced off his armour, but it was enough to stop Maglor's rage and allow the other soldier, who had been losing the fight and was wounded, to get away. 

Gildor fell to his knees. "And will you also cut me down?" he said, looking up at Maglor. His hand with the sword in it had fallen limp to his side, and he was looking at Gildor with a mixture of confusion and sorrow. 

"How came you here?" he breathed. "You were not meant to...you must not interfere. Not with the Oath." Maglor tugged his leather glove off and reached out his hand. Gildor took his own glove off, and placed his hand in Maglor's, and allowed him to raise him up. Both standing, Gildor was the taller and the stronger of the two. They stood for a moment in silence, hands clasped. All around them the battle raged. 

Then a shout rang out from the harbour-tower and both looked up to see a shining figure appear. Elwing's dark hair and white dress fluttered in the wind for a moment as she held the Silmaril up. With a single backward glance she threw herself from the tower. 

Both Gildor and Maglor gasped in horror, and let go of each other's hands. In that moment, Gildor realised that Maglor had been afraid for a completely different reason than he had been. 

"If your loyalty is to the Oath, then you may have it to warm your bed!" he said coldly. Maglor cast him an agonised glance, but said nothing, and after a moment's hesitation, began running toward the tower. Gildor turned, and began protecting the Havens, putting out fires where he could, defending innocents, rescuing anyone he found in need of it. 

He did not see Maglor again. 

\-----

The War of Wrath was at an end. Great swathes of Beleriand had already fallen into the Sea, and the land was breaking up in the wake of the triumphant Valar. Gildor had been fighting with the host of the Noldor for much of the war. 

Late in the fighting, a pair of twins had appeared from out of the wilderness. One, a soldier named Elros, threw himself into the leadership of the remnants of the Race of Men who fought, and the other, a healer named Elrond, proved himself extremely capable in the healing tents, and none too shabby with a blade either, when there was need. 

Gildor soon had the truth of their past out of Elrond, who admitted freely that they had been raised by Maglor. Indeed, Elrond praised Maglor, even claimed to love him. Gildor wondered if, all that time ago, he had not erred in rejecting Maglor as he had. But the past could never be undone, and yet his heart began to soften toward Maglor once again. 

When he heard that Maedhros and Maglor had taken the Silmarils and fled into the night, he could no longer stand by and do nothing. Alone, he followed them into the depths of the breaking land, tracking them with all the skill he had learned years ago in Maglor's Gap. 

The dawn was red, but the Sun was veiled in haze. All the lands to the northwest were aflame and lava flowed among the acrid dust of the plains, meeting the onrushing Sea with great clouds of steam. Huge fissures of fire wound through the landscape, and Gildor carefully avoided them, following on. 

His journey came to an end at the edge of a cliff where lava met water. Far below the Sea boiled, and on the edge of the cliff, Maglor was kneeling, one hand clutching a Silmaril, the other covering his face in despair. He turned sharply when Gildor approached, but stayed on his knees. 

Gildor sat down beside him, not speaking. There was nothing to be said. Maglor watched the brightness of the Silmaril highlighting all the blood vessels in his hand. Every now and again he moaned in pain, wordlessly. 

"I must make an end of it," he said at last. "Even as Maedhros did. There is no other way." He looked up, turning to face Gildor. "I'm so sorry for everything. I have done nothing but hurt you, and all those I loved."

Gildor's answer was a kiss to his cheek. He paused, setting the words aright in his own mind, and spoke at last, calm and mild, words they had spoken before, long ago after the Darkening. "No matter the distance, no matter the hardship, I will always love you. No matter the pain, no matter the hurt, I will always forgive you. No matter the fear, no matter the loss, I will stand with you, side by side, unto the world's ending." 

Maglor stared at him in shocked silence. "After all this time - after all I have done," he said, "you would make that vow again?" 

"Our oath was first," Gildor said, and leaned forward once again, kissing Maglor softly. Maglor's mouth responded a little to the pressure of his, and when the kiss broke, he was smiling faintly. "And there is another way. Just open your hand and let it fall." 

Maglor looked down at his hand, gleaming red around the Silmaril. Very slowly he raised his hand over the edge of the cliff, and for a long moment as both held their breath, waited, so still he might have been carved from stone. 

He opened his hand, and the Silmaril fell, burning like a star.


End file.
